


But Who's Counting?

by museme87



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/museme87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You promise yourself that you're going to smile, despite the fact that you've just broken up with the love of your life again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Who's Counting?

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Brian/Justin  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 532  
> Warnings: mild language, mention of violence  
> Author's Note: Written for moonshinekinney for her missing moment prompt of post 5.07 break-up, Brian or Justin alone for the first time. Thank you, hon, for always giving me such a great prompts! This was a fun—if sad—prompt to write for. Obviously, the timeline for this one is during/post 5.07.

You spend four days surrounding yourself with people—going to the store with Michael, volunteering with Deb, checking out potential rental places with Ben, taking Molly to the movies. You fight hard to keep yourself busy. You invest yourself in your art. Maybe most importantly, you talk about Brian with each and every one of your friends because _not_ talking about it will only make you feel like you're avoiding the break-up. 

Which, for the record, you're not. You tell yourself that it was for the best. That yes, you miss him like hell, but that's only natural. After all, love wasn't the issue. Just commitment. Just life, and the directions you were going. You? Forward. And Brian? Dead in the water. But, it was never about love. You've always loved him, and you certainly aren't about to stop. 

You spend ninety-six hours with your head held high, smiling and explaining the whole thing to anyone who asks without a drop of sadness staining your voice. Mostly, you're proud of yourself. You don't call him, email him, drop by Kinnetik for that lunch date that you'd made a week ago. And when he shows up to Michael's late one night, drunk and angry, you let Michael fight this battle on his own. 

You pretend that night doesn't matter, just like you pretend that not being Brian's partner doesn't matter. Brian's impromptu appearance is discussed at breakfast the next morning—Ben his collected self and Michael outwardly fuming and inwardly worried. Yourself? You don't know, but the pancakes feel dry going down your throat, as if you might choke at any minute. Still, you smile, your head held high. 

For five thousand-seven hundred-and-sixty minutes, you have yourself convinced that this thing isn't going to touch you. This was your decision, after all, so how can you possibly be sad about it? You're not _sorry_ that you did it, only that it had to come to it. 

Maybe that's why—when it does happen—you're so fucking blindsided that you feel like someone's shattered your skull with a baseball bat. You're standing in _your_ apartment over a borrowed bed, three duffle bags spread out as you unpack each. In your right hand, you hold a sock, and you've spent the past ten minutes searching for its mate.

Your fingers tremble as you realize that it's not your sock. It's Brian's sock, somehow mixed in with your stuff. In with your new _life_. Carefully, you bring it to your chest, nails digging into the thin, black fabric almost involuntarily. 

You clutch. 

You gasp.

You feel wetness slip down your cheeks before you ever realize that just maybe you're crying. 

For the first time in three hundred-and-forty-five thousand-six hundred seconds, you feel alone. Not alone as in Brian's on a business trip and will be back on Sunday. Not alone as in you're off in Hollywood bringing your characters to life. Not even alone as in you've just walked out on the man you've always loved. 

Alone as in you're stuck in a hospital, scrambling to remember a night you were robbed of and waiting on the only person who could put you back together again.


End file.
